


What's Left Behind

by piratemistress



Category: Firefly, Serenity (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-22
Updated: 2010-03-22
Packaged: 2018-04-11 10:34:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4432163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piratemistress/pseuds/piratemistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mal/Inara  - post Serenity (2005).  Somewhat mournful short fic.</p><p> “How fine it would be to have a man’s warmth beside her, his arm draped protectively over her stomach… a tall man with hair the color of desert stone, with haunted eyes and a quick smile, with a warrior’s strength, a warrior’s scars.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Would not have been possible without the generosity and assistance of the one and only erinya. Thanks to her for her wonderful beta read and thoughtful comments!

 

Surely her favorite mountain sanctuary on Sihnon would provide the solace she needed to regain her balance. Surely the tender dawn, the glistening sunlight of noon and romance of misty dusk would restore her sense of day and night, right and wrong, the proper order of things. Surely, in time, she would forget the empty despair she felt as she watched Nandi’s life bleed away. Even Nandi, who was so vibrant, so courageous, so alluringly beautiful, could succumb to death’s sudden grip; even Nandi’s colorful, independent life could be extinguished in a moment.

Inara longed for patience, for reason told her time would smooth the tumultuous peaks and valleys in her memories of the past year; but with every sunset, she simply felt a day older. She deeply admired how Mal and Zoe faced the specter of death with courage and resilience. Inara liked to imagine death as a distant, foreign place she had no wish to travel to.

 _Surely I am still young_ , she mentally repeated as she took down her hair each night and massaged the vitamin ointment into her skin. _I must stop worrying; I have many years ahead_.

And who knew what awaited her, in the long years of her life? There were new worlds to visit, new musicians from foreign lands. Surely there was enough art and learning and beauty to fill all her days with novel forms of entertainment. And lovers.

Lovers, but not love; love was the Companion’s enemy. The headstrong teenage girl who had devoted herself to Companion training embraced the cultural skills, the outward glamour, and the self-sufficiency of a courtesan’s life. If it didn’t involve being tied down to one man, so much the better. One less complication; she would live unfettered.

The stories of love were kept hushed, but circulated anyway. This Companion had been killed for love, strangled by a jealous man; that one mysteriously fell from the top of the waterfall to be crushed on the rocks below. An accident, the elders said. But everyone knew how that one had come back to heal a broken heart, and no one wondered why she left her silk dressing gown and slippers at the top of the cliffs. Love was the worst thing that could happen to a Companion, other than the slow march of time, other than death.

It was only as Inara got older than she began to wonder if a long, loveless life was not a prison of its own. Still, it seemed a small price to pay for the freedom to travel the galaxy as she pleased. She was sure that she would never be foolish enough to allow her feelings for man to interfere with her work, to jeopardize her independence.

Inara had been sure of many things. One evening, she parted her hair to braid it before sleeping, and a single strand gleamed silver in the lamplight. _It is a sign of wisdom_ , elder Marah had often said about graying hair. _A stepping stone to be treated with gratitude, grace and honor_.

Horrified, Inara immediately seized the offending hair between her nails and yanked it from her scalp.

Goodness, what would Mal say? Malicious teasing?

_“Well, I daresay that’s a shame, Inara. Better not pluck it, though, or two’ll grow in its place. That’s what they say, anyway.”_

Or maybe…

 _“You’re going to pieces over one measly gray hair? You know how many I’ve gotten over the years? Here, below the temples. Take a look. Really, go on.”_ She imagined him dipping his head for her examination, her fingers sifting through his tawny hair. Then she’d find one and laugh, and he’d lift his head quick and they’d find themselves –

Her chest clenched; her blood began to churn. No. This was why she’d left. This was what she had to leave behind. She hastily doused the lamp and climbed into bed, trying not to mind the sterile coolness of the sheets. The night air was damp, and the curtains swayed mournfully in the breeze. How fine it would be to have a man’s warmth beside her, his arm draped protectively over her stomach… a tall man with hair the color of desert stone, with haunted eyes and a quick smile, with a warrior’s strength, a warrior’s scars.

The next morning she stood on the terrace, letting the sunlight banish her fears and worries of the previous night. In time, in time she would forget. She must forget.

On that day, the operative’s ship arrived.

* * *

In the peaceful quiet of the black, even her brief respite on Sihnon seemed ages ago. Encounters with disaster and death had a way of distancing everything that came before, and sharpening the present. The repairs had been completed over the past month, during which Inara found herself in a strange limbo. She read, she meditated, she took her turn preparing meals. She tried to add some variety, to prepare dishes from lesser-known planets, and the more exotic dishes were certainly appreciated by most of the crew (save for Jayne, who sullenly poked through the spicy vegetable canapés searching for the meat). Kaylee routinely raved about Inara’s cooking. Simon and River were accustomed to more cultured dishes as a matter of course. Zoe professed a love for anything with a good flavor, and Mal – well, Mal would eat anything.

Two days ago, the repairs finished, they had finally gotten under way. The chaotic noise and activity of repairs behind them, the ship was remarkably quiet. None of the crew locked their cabin doors, even at night. There was an unspoken rule of respect for privacy combined with trust; perhaps it was like the stories of Earth that was, where people lived together in remote towns and no one locked the doors of their houses. There was no need.

No one entered each other’s private space without express permission; that was, no one except for Mal. Inara didn’t know if he routinely barged in on the others while they were brushing their teeth or getting dressed or on the wave with an old friend. She might have asked him, but it might have led to a conversation they couldn’t quite have. When she had lived in the shuttle, she had always dressed quickly and shrouded her private activities behind curtains of silk and beaded cottons. There was no telling when Mal would decide to stroll in.

In her temporary cabin, with nothing other than the clothes on her back, there was nowhere to hide from intrusions. She was sitting on her bunk with her eyes closed, streaming some calming sitar synth from a mountainous region of Atlas, a little moon near Persephone. Without warning, the door hissed and lifted.

Mal poked his head in, tentatively, but only for as long as it took to confirm she was inside. He smiled and descended the steps with the grace of long practice but the noisy clomping of a booted soldier. “Well, hello there. Right where I left you.”

Since he didn’t apparently feel the need to ask her permission to enter, she didn’t particularly feel the need to stand up and greet him. “Are you sure the ship’s repairs are complete?” she said. “Can’t anything be done about the defects in your manners?”

“Not a thing, I’m afraid.” He stood at the bottom of the steps and looked her over. She must have appeared quite transformed from the time she lived aboard. Her makeup, jewelry and hair ornaments were left behind when they made their escape from Sihnon; the gown she was wearing had been ruined afterward. “I’m still not overly used to seeing you outfitted for ship’s work,” he said with a trace of a smile.

“Kaylee’s been kind enough to keep lending me her things.” The simple cotton trousers and buttoned blouse were far from her usual weeds, but she had to admit they were comfortable. “Though I’m afraid any mechanical work assigned to me would end up doing more harm than good.”

“Could be. Although, as I recall, you have a bit of a knack for piloting that shuttle. If you decide you want get your hands on something bigger—“

“I’ll let you know,” she said wryly. Her eyes fell on the metal box Mal carried at his hip, the kind they used to store dry goods.

He followed her glance and then cleared his throat. “Since we’re under way, I thought I’d bring over your things. You know, what you left behind when you… left. Before.”

“Oh,” she said. She’d forgotten about that. She hadn’t thought she’d left anything at all, but over time, she supposed it was possible. Her automatic social graces, familiar as an old melody, spread her lips into a smile and lifted her hand to indicate the space beside her on the bunk. “I’d invite you to have some tea, but…”

“Fine by me,” he said dismissively. “I prefer whiskey after dinner, anyhow.”

After a brief hesitation, he did sit, keeping a foot of space between them. He placed the metal box on his lap. She noticed that he looked quite comfortable there, with his long legs stretched before him, his boots easily reaching the floor. She always had to sit cross-legged on the bunk to be comfortable; no doubt they were designed for men. She opted to lean her back on the wall, bending her knees and tucking her feet to the side so she could see the contents of the box.

Lightning-quick, she recalled the two of them sitting on her divan, the electric pleasure of being physically close to him. Then, she just as quickly pushed the memory away. No sense dwelling on things like that.

“So, are you going to show me what’s inside, or do I have to guess?” she asked playfully, as he seemed to be in no rush to open the lid. Instead, he regarded her with a calm sort of scrutiny, his eyes moving back and forth over her face. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m just not… accustomed to seeing you without all that paint.”

Suddenly very aware of his perusal, she averted her eyes. “I must look quite pale.”

“Not pale. Just natural, is all. Like a… regular woman.”

Inara smiled because she knew he meant well, even if his comments placed her well within the realm of ordinary. Was a Companion still a Companion when stripped of finery, accessories, tea set, boudoir? She would carry herself as such, but she was not fool enough to think the costume and set pieces weren’t important.

“Perhaps I’ll pretend to be ‘regular’ for a few hours, and see how well I can pull it off,” she said wryly.

“I’m all for that,” he said with a sidelong smile, playing along. “You do your best, and I’ll be the judge.”

“Not going to give me any handicaps? As I’m a beginner, that would only be fair.”

Mal paused for a moment, and then dug his right hand in his trouser pocket to produce a silver flask. He held it up, gesturing a toast, and then unscrewed the lid and swigged. He lifted an eyebrow as he lowered it, swallowing. “There. More a man drinks, more easily convinced he is.”

She smiled a small smile. “Very well.”

He held the opened flask out to her, but she only glanced at it and waved it aside. “Companions shouldn’t…” she began out of habit, only to see Mal’s sandy brow arch yet again.

“Well, you ain’t a Companion at the moment, are you?”

She eyed the flask warily. “Even so, I prefer sake.”

“That a fact? Well, that’s not very ordinary, now, is it?” he said, the sidelong smile returning. He was enjoying this. “Swig of whiskey’s a fine thing. Give it a try.”

“I never said I hadn’t _tried_ it,” she said, carefully taking the flask from his fingers. “It’s just a practice I try to avoid.”

Mal frowned at her. “A practice to avoid? That’s kitchen cleanup. Whiskey’s a pleasure.”

He watched her put the flask to her lips and drink. _Her lips, where his had been_. She swallowed the burning liquid and took a deep breath. “There.”

“Good girl.”

She gave him back the flask and he returned it to his pocket. As the whiskey blazed a warm path through her body, she eyed the metal box he’d brought. “My things?”

“Oh! Right,” he said, and loosened the latches. He lifted the lid and they both looked inside.

The first thing Mal pulled out was a small metal container about the size of a salt shaker. Her compact incense.

“That was in the forward head,” he said, handing it to her.

“Oh… that’s right.” She sniffed its spicy scent, and then handed it back to Mal with a smile. “Consider it a gift. The head could probably still use some refreshing fragrance.”

“Well, that’s not untrue.” He seemed disinclined to take it back, but did so, tossing it into a corner of the box. Next he withdrew a slender object wrapped in navy cloth. He unwrapped it, and held the handle out to her.

“Oh, my cheese knife… I had forgotten about that,” she said, weighing the gold, beaded handle in her palm. “It was a gift, together with that exquisite goat cheese from the merchant on Demeter. Do you remember?”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “We did eat quite well that night, as I recall. You left the knife in the galley drawer.”

“I suppose I hoped we might have occasion to cut fine cheese with it again,” she said, smiling at the memory from many months ago. The crew had enjoyed the rare cheese after dinner, consuming about half of it. Inara woke in the night with an absurd craving for more, and had snuck down to the galley in her dressing gown, only to find Mal about to gorge himself on the very same cheese. He’d looked so guilty when she entered, the knife already loaded with a pat of cheese, a cut piece of apple in his other hand.

“Midnight snack?” he’d said. She nodded. He cut her a piece of apple and an equal slice of cheese, and combined the two. He had looked at her from the corner of his eye as he handed her the cheese-laden slice. All was quiet; everyone was asleep save for them and whoever was on watch on the bridge.

Her mouth had watered as she hesitated. “I said at dinner that I’d share it with everyone. What do we tell the others when they find it gone?”

Mal inspected his own carefully assembled bite and then turned his eyes back to her face. “Nothin’. What they don’t know can’t hurt us. Quick, eat.”

And he surprised her by taking the piece in his hand and guiding it toward her mouth; she should have smiled, been coy, refused to indulge such a flirtation with someone to whom she paid rent. Instead, she closed her eyes and allowed him to place it between her lips, his thumb brushing her lower lip as he let go. The cheese was thick, heady, rich; the apple crisp; but the light salty taste of his thumb on her lip sped her heartbeat along with a warm, sultry pleasure stirred by her senses.

She opened her eyes slowly to find him watching her face intently. She rarely allowed a man to see her unguarded expression, particularly one of sensual pleasure… no doubt, he was fascinated. Good thing that she was long past her ability to blush, or she surely would have.

Still, her cheeks felt slightly warm as she aimed to return the favor. She took her piece and lifted it to his lips, keeping her eyelids lowered until the last possible moment. When she suddenly raised her eyes to his, just before he closed his mouth around her thumb and forefinger, she felt a bit of heat arc between his blue eyes and her own.

Her fingertip and thumb inadvertently stroked his tongue. His mouth was wet, soft, and strong; his lips firm. Inara knew well how sensitive fingertips are, how many nerve endings are crowded together there for maximum sensation. The contact with his mouth warmed her fingers and her skin and her belly…

“Mmm,” Mal had said, closing his eyes as he savored the food. Inara curled her dampened fingers into a fist and forced her arm to her side. “That is a damn fine cheese, don’t you think?”

“Careful not to eat too much,” she said, still recovering. “It’s very rich.”

“Too much of a good thing, and all that,” Mal said. Holding her gaze for a moment longer, he said, “You’re right. We should quit snacking and go to bed. To our - that is, back to our bed. Beds. Yours, and uh, mine.”

She smiled at his stammered salutation – it was nice to know she still had charm enough to make Mal stumble – and simply said, “Good night.” She had forgotten about the knife.

Until now, as she sat inches away from the only man that possessed the ability to ruin her composure. A dangerous thing for a Companion.

“You can keep the knife,” she said softly, wondering if he remembered their midnight snack as well as she did. She extended the small knife to him, handle first. Mal met her eyes and shook his head.

“Nope. Got no use for such fancy things. If it can’t cut meat or flesh, it shouldn’t be takin’ up space pretending to be a knife.”

She frowned at his crude dismissal of the implement. “You know, Mal, sometimes it’s nice to keep beautiful things around just to admire.”

“I admire what I can use,” he replied, his eyes narrowing.

“And what about mementos? Surely something can be useful simply to remind one of an absent friend, a pleasant memory?”

Mal’s wary look hardened into a somber one. “Truth is, mementos of the past are best left in the past. Where they belong.” He reached down and folded her fingers around the knife’s handle, and gently pushed her hand away from the box. Away from him.

Exasperated, and suddenly sad at his eagerness to rid the ship of traces of her presence, she set the knife beside her and took a deep breath to center herself. When she opened her eyes, she kept her expression reserved, and her voice cool. “Is there anything else?”

He reached in and pulled out a fold of crimson satin. A coverlet. It was lined with gold satin on the underside. “Found this in the heat disinfector.”

“Oh, how thoughtless of me,” she said, reaching to take the corner of the coverlet. “I must have had a lot on my mind.” She automatically lifted a small fold to her face, to smell it for cleanliness, and then turned to Mal. “It doesn’t smell disinfected.”

“Well, I guess I… saw it in there and didn’t want it to get ruined, so I took it out and uh… put it aside.”

One fold smelled vaguely of her perfume. She carefully pulled the rest out of the box. “Thank you. I’d been looking for it, but I just assumed it was somewhere in my things and I’d forgotten where.”

“You’re welcome,” he said gruffly. She saw Mal following the fabric with his eyes, and she could detect a hint of longing. Perhaps he’d tucked the coverlet away, knowing it was hers, only to regret it later.

Her view of his expression was interrupted as he turned his face aside and raised the whiskey flask to his lips. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and re-capped the flask, all the while avoiding her eyes.

“So what’s your plan, Inara?” he finally said, slouching a bit against the wall. “When I asked you where you wanted to go, you said you didn’t know.”

“You asked me if I was ready for _civilization_. I always knew a stable government came with sacrifices, but until I saw… until I learned the truth, it was easier to think the price of order a fair one.”

“But you need order, don’t you?” Mal’s eyes gleamed a little brighter in the dim room. “Without order, your guild, your safety, your _work_ is all jeopardized.”

She regarded him calmly despite the condescension in his tone. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. There’s bound to be a bit of political upheaval, but it’ll die down. Companions remain in demand despite coups and changes.”

“I’ll bet they do, at that.” Again, his tone rankled, but she ignored it. She was used to it. He shifted to angle his body toward her, his brows knitting. “Tell me, Inara, how long do you think you can work?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Mal waved a palm before him as he put thoughts into words. “Eventually… you know… you’ll get older, and clients’ll be wanting younger, fresher Companions, and your income will dry up, along with… well. What’s retirement age for a wh… woman like you?”

As always, he managed to rattle her; she was prepared to be insulted, but he had a special talent for it. She tried not to let him know, and took refuge in sweet-voiced, calm words that belied the anger underneath. “Well, Mal, a Companion has numerous options and choices while getting older, as she has all along. She may accept one of the many offers of devoted support that she receives – and I assure you, there are _many_ – and she would be wise to choose a man with adequate resources and a kind disposition.”

“Marry, you mean.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. If she doesn’t receive an attractive enough offer, or chooses not to assign herself to one person, she can return to the Guild center and educate younger Companions, all the while living in safety and comfort. A Companion is wise to save some of her earnings for retirement…. Which doesn’t come nearly as soon as you might think.”

“Have you?”

“Have I what?”

“Saved? For a rainy day?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “My earnings over the past few years have barely kept me in food, gowns and linens. Surpluses have been rare.”

Mal accepted this with a nod. “I do apologize for keeping you from bed-hopping more often. We’ve been obliged to keep to the outer edges for a while, but now that the Pax scandal’s broken and public support for those behind it is all but gone, I think we might be able to find some better paying jobs among the inner planets.” He looked at her, and she felt the heat of his gaze permeate her skin. “’Course, that don’t affect you. You having cut the cord with us, and all.”

Inara stifled a bitter laugh. Cut the cord, indeed. She was as entangled with Mal and his crew as she ever had been, if not more. After being so nobly (and foolishly) rescued by Mal, she had helped to execute a brilliant and rebellious act in the name of something greater than herself… and almost been killed in the process. Few Companions would ever know the cross-section of the universe that she had seen. Few women would know the kind of people she knew. Their love and loyalty.

The kind of man. Mal’s kind. His love, his loyalty. He had told her, after all, that he had come for her, even knowing it was a trap. Then again, she’d seen him do the same for other friends, other crew. She couldn’t help wondering where exactly she fit in to his plans to protect those he cared about.

“What am I, Mal?” was the question that suddenly emerged, and she immediately regretted asking.

“’Fraid I don’t get your meaning.”

It was too late to back down, she thought, and forged ahead. “What am I… to you? Crew? Friend?” His mouth opened and she jabbed a finger in the air to silence him. “And don’t tell me a business partner, because you risked a great deal in coming to rescue me. And not for money.”

Mal shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve been known to take crew and passengers under my wing, so to speak. I’m not keen on leaving a woman to die on account of having known us.”

Inara listened, nodded once, blinking back tears. If he did care for her in any particular way, it was clear that he would never tell her. Telling her would be an invitation to reject him, which he was certain she would. And she _should_ … when it came to evaluating offers, a man whose profession could be described, at best, as freelance cargo transporter, and at worst, thief, smuggler, or criminal… such a man ought not to be given serious consideration.

She had to think about the long run. She had to prepare for her future. The only troublesome thought that kept returning, after their very close brush with brutal death, was: who’s to say there would be a long run? What if she, like Nandi, met her death while still in her prime? A year from now? A month? A week?

Inara’s mind, swirling with indecision, could only tell her to end this hopeless conversation with Mal – now. She cleared her throat and gathered the coverlet and knife into her hands before unfolding her legs and getting up. She placed the items on a shelf and turned back to see Mal watching her intently as he lounged on her bunk.

“Thank you for tending to my things,” she said in a polite tone, hoping he would take the hint. “I’m getting tired, so perhaps we should talk about my destination tomorrow. I have some thinking to do.”

He must have heard the dismissal in her tone, and sighed in frustration. “Inara…”

“Please,” she said, holding up a hand. “Let’s not strain the boundaries of our friendship, if I may call it that.”

He leaned forward, suddenly tense. “If you _may_? Are you trying to say I haven’t been a friend to you?”

Inara, seeing how he bristled, stifled the urge to laugh. When she had asked him directly how he felt, he dismissed her. But when she did the same to him, he was braced for a fight. She searched for the right words, the diplomatic balance she had always managed to strike in the past. “Of course you’ve been very kind to me, Mal, and I’m grateful. But our relationship has been primarily one of business. I think we both understand that.”

Mal had gotten to his feet while she spoke, and approached her. “Do we? Then why all the questions?”

Inara stared, unsettled by his nearness. She faced him squarely – men like him needed to be addressed with firm, undaunted authority. “Because I’m well aware that you don’t routinely risk life, limb and ship for all your business partners. Yet you did so for me.”

“Look here - I did what any of the crew would have done for you. Or me for them.”

Inara acknowledged this by inclining her head, and forced a smile. “Fair enough. I appreciate the loyalty you show your crew. I find it admirable.”

“You do, huh?” He regarded her warily. “Well, I guess I just don’t know any other way to be.”

This time, her smile was not forced. “I know. I… admire that, too.”

Mal smiled crookedly, drawing closer, and lifted a hand to her face. “Why don’t you tell me some more,” he said with mock sincerity, “about how you admire me.” His thumb brushed a curl from her cheek, his fingers slipping gently along her jaw. Inara blinked at the touch, a bit too long.

“Ha.” She tried to play along, all of her senses blaring warnings about his nearness. “I admire your ability to know where to draw the line.” She watched him take in her arched brow, her cool tone. She hoped it would be enough.

“Depends on which line.” His thumb rounded her chin and traced a path, feather-light, down her throat to the open collar of her blouse. The touch sent sparks flying along her skin, liquid fire pooling in her belly.

God, but she wanted him. If only it weren’t so extremely complicated…

She closed her fingers around his wrist and pulled his hand aside. “Mal. I think you should go.”

She tried to say it gently, but the rejection clearly stung; Mal tensed, his playful expression evaporating. His mouth compressed into a hard line.

“You’re right. I should go. Seein’ how things were going… and seein’ as I find myself fairly short of funds these days. Good night.” He tapped his temple in a mock salute, and moved around her toward the steps.

Inara ground her teeth, her temper flaring as she took in the injury of losing his nearness and the insult of his excuse. She turned to watch him climb the stairs. “Bastard,” she hissed.

Mal turned, one hand on the door. “I’m sorry… did I say something not true? I’m flat broke, and you are one hell of a fancy whore. Am I wrong, here?”

Inara’s heart raced; she wanted to throttle him. “I don’t have to tolerate any more of your rudeness. Get out of my cabin.”

Instead of complying, he turned and came back down the steps to where she stood. She thought it rather unwise of him, given that she was mad enough to spit. Surely he could tell… then again, that spark in his eye meant he was angry, too.

“Now, listen. I really don’t know what you’ve got your under-things in a twist about.” He glanced down for a split second. “If you’re wearing any, that is.”

She laughed, bitterly. “Well, if you’re going to take liberties like entering without knocking and calling me a whore, what’s one more? Find out for yourself.”

“Maybe I will,” he shot back, taking a step closer.

“Fine,” she snapped, and grabbed his hand with one of hers. She took his hand and pressed it against her lower back, spreading his palm, before squeezing his wrist and pushing his hand beneath the loose waistband of the trousers that were too big for her. His fingers splayed over her bare hip, and she met his eyes defiantly. She meant to punish him – to give him thoughts he wouldn’t easily forget, and to make him call a retreat.

She lowered her voice to a whisper. “There, you see? Nothing to be twisted.”

“Like hell,” he said, but his voice had lost its edge. His warm fingers, still beneath her trousers, trailed over her hip and around to the curve of her bottom, where he flattened his palm, urging her toward him. “You’re all twisted up inside. Same as me.”

She was about to issue an automatic denial when he brought her against him with one hard pull; his moist palm on her bare flesh pressed her pelvis to his. The contact was electric, sending flares of heat through her belly that redoubled as she realized he was already hard. He must have taken her sharp intake of breath for surprise, because he caught her chin in his other hand and peered into her face.

“What’s the matter with you? All that Companion training on how to read men, and you can’t tell when a man’s plum crazy about you?”

Inara felt the tension in his body, saw the brightly lit emotion in his eyes. “How was I to know, when you were always denying everything and walking away?”

“Me? You _ran_ away, before I could even say lickety-split.”

“I thought it for the best,” she said, and raised a hand to stroke the stubble on his jaw. “I thought we should forget each other.”

“Then we got us a problem,” he said, and his voice was rougher than usual. “’Cause it ain’t working.”

“Mal,” she whispered, brokenly. Something gave way, and she suddenly leaned in to kiss him at the same moment he dipped his head toward her. His lips were as firm as she remembered, and when he groaned and wrapped both arms around her back she melted against him. He kissed her hungrily, urgently, and as was his wont, drove his tongue into her mouth without waiting for permission.

His kiss was different from the others. Honest, sensual, uninhibited. Men often got nervous with Companions. If Mal were nervous, she was hard pressed to detect it. And she kissed him back just as honestly, with none of her usual thought as to what style of kissing the man preferred. She was taking, for once, and he was giving and taking too. When he tore his mouth away, his breathing ragged, she curled her fingers against his shoulders for support.

“Now, we got us a little problem here,” Mal said. His voice was deep and scratchy, his eyes heavy-lidded. “Thing is, I can’t afford you. And you know it.”

She tried to think clearly through the haze in her mind, and to hear him without getting angry. “Mal, please don’t…”

“No – no,” he said, and cupped her jaw in his hand. “This is something we gotta get straight between us. I’m in no position to make you an offer tonight, tomorrow or who knows when. If you’re looking for a retirement fund – and you got every right to – I ain’t your guy.”

Tears stung, but she blinked them away, trying to understand his words in some way that wasn’t demeaning. She shook her head. “How could you think this is about _money_?”

“It better not be. It _can’t_ be, is what I’m sayin’. You don’t owe me a thing, for rescues or friends or anything else, and I don’t have anything to give you, anyhow.”

“I don’t want anything.” She forced herself to meet his eyes. “I only want you.”

His eyes didn’t leave hers, but the corner of his mouth began to stretch into a sly smile. “Is that the Companion talking, or the regular woman?” he said, trailing a finger beneath the collar of her blouse. The light touch of his fingertip was driving her mad.

“One and the same,” she managed to assert. “Just me. Inara.”

“Inara,” he echoed, but it was a whispered plea. In the next instant he’d captured her mouth again, and the hand that was lightly stroking her collarbone was descending to pry open the buttons of her blouse with alacrity.

She wore nothing underneath. After a moment’s disappointment – she had imagined titillating Mal with any number of lingerie ensembles – she accepted the ordinariness of her clothing and focused on stripping Mal of his suspenders and shirt.

When they were both nude to the waist, Mal linked his arms behind her back and stooped to kiss his way down the center of her chest to her navel. Ribbons of arousal curled in her belly as he opened his mouth around each breast in turn. She brazenly watched his mouth surround her small, dusky nipple and tug on her … she cried out his name and let her hands fall to his broad shoulders, already slick with sweat, his fair skin glowing golden in the artificial light.

His hands were everywhere upon her – her shoulders, her back, her sides and her arms. He didn’t talk. He didn’t constantly ask, _You like that, baby?_ like some men. He didn’t shove her this way and that way and up and down to tell her what he wanted.

And while he memorized the shape of her body with his hands, he kissed her thoroughly and deeply, giving generously of himself. Inara drank him in eagerly, feeling as though their time together might be finite, as though she had to absorb as much of Mal this night as she could. Enough to last.

She barely noticed when he divested her of her trousers, and slowly guided her backward toward the bunk. “Sit,” was all he whispered as his hands skimmed over her calves, her thighs. She thought, _I don’t take orders from you_. She sat.

His hand rested on her inner thigh, and then he was leaning away, reaching for something… the panel on the wall. He pressed a button, and Inara heard the door lock latch. “Private party,” he said, kneeling on the floor to press a kiss above her knee.

“Who do you expect to walk in? You’re already… _here_ …” Inara murmured, breaking off as his mouth blazed a trail of heat along the inside of her thigh.

“Here?” he said, and parted his lips to dip his tongue between her folds with a long, sensuous stroke.

Inara’s nails dug into the thin sheets; the touch of his mouth was exquisite. It was a rare occurrence, this particular form of lovemaking; most male clients couldn’t be bothered, and didn’t need to, of course. The occasional woman, yes. But Mal… she knew he would be a generous lover, and he was. Incredibly generous. She bit back whimpers of pleasure and desire, determined to take this in stride; it wouldn’t do to let him know she was utterly his.

God, he was good. Unlike rich men and even too-handsome men, he knew his way around and was both earnest and patient. Though it didn’t take long. Their foreplay had gone on for months and she wanted him too badly. Before long, she was throwing her head back, shuddering, gasping his name as he curled a finger inside her to twist and stroke her there, too.

He sat beside her, leaning his back against the wall, and coaxed her atop him. His strong hands settled at her hips and brought her down on him. When he finally slipped inside, the whole hot, hard length of him, he groaned and went tense, straining to be closer to her. She trailed her fingers over the smooth planes of his chest, tracing a tiny scar on one side. He wound her hair lightly around his hand and pulled her down to kiss him. She could swear he mouthed her name, but she was too far gone to tell for sure.

She appreciated the view from above – she had a weakness for fair-skinned men and women, she knew, and Mal looked so delicious squeezed into the undersized bunk, his skin shining, his handsome features contorted with pleasure and desire as she rode him. But equally enjoyable was the feeling of his weight atop her, the length of his spine as it curved under her fingers, the smooth skin marked here and there with shrapnel scars, the power in the muscles of his legs and backside as she pulled him closer with her hands.

“Can’t hold out much longer,” he said in a strained whisper, without breaking stride.

“Then don’t,” she whispered back. She was floating in a black sea of stars and moons, present in her body but outside herself, too. She had learned long ago to ride the waves of pleasure as her body wished, and with him, it was too easy. She had the brief thought that the entire crew would hear them; probably, they did.

They slept tangled in the bedsheets, but only for a short while, before he stirred and took her again, more slowly and deeply than before. He kissed her, tasting every corner of her mouth; he opened his eyes when he entered her, holding her gaze until sensation overcame him and he dropped his forehead to her chest. He made love to her with such plain, true passion that she didn’t know how she would allow another man’s touch on her skin.

She couldn’t. Not for a long while.

When she woke, hours later, she was curled against Mal’s side, beneath his arm. She was warm, safe, contented. She trailed her fingers over his chest, and when his hand closed over hers, she realized he was awake.

Their eyes met. Mal said nothing, but was probably thinking the same thing she was: _What now?_

He suddenly turned toward her, a grave expression on his face. “Inara—“

“Don’t.”

He frowned. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

 _It doesn’t matter_ , she thought. They’d made a true mess of everything, now, in crossing that line. “Perhaps we shouldn’t discuss it just now.”

He turned away abruptly, sat up and slipped out of the bunk. “Suits me, since it’s morning and I’ll be missed fairly soon,” he muttered, standing and casually scratching his scalp while he presumably scanned the floor for his clothes.

Taking in the magnificent view of his naked body from the back, she missed him already.

* * *

Weeks later, back on Sihnon, she temporarily deactivated her Companion profile in the registry and secluded herself at the mountain sanctuary. She met with a Companion elder and let it be known that she would be happy to instruct a cultures class for young women in training for the time being. She had to do something, and the thought of a stranger touching her – though she’d never thought of clients as _strangers_ before – made her skin crawl.

If their parting hadn’t been quite amicable, it had not been bitter. They kissed goodbye twice – first, leaning in to one another, pressed close, his hands clasped behind her back. And again, slowly, in resignation, already trying to keep each other at arm’s length. Mal understood that things couldn’t go on as they were, and couldn’t return to the way they were before. He could never rent her the shuttle and ferry her from world to world so she could sleep with other men. She knew this, too.

So it was impossible, she thought. Mal had enough difficulty allowing himself to bond with anyone; she was sure he could never permit a woman he loved to be intimate with others, no matter the purpose. And she could never be comfortable living on Serenity as only Mal’s lover. Being aboard the ship for long periods still gave her a sense of claustrophobia. She was neither ready nor able to let love determine the course of her life.

Other times, she thought anything was possible. Maybe Mal would grow weary of wandering and come looking for a bit of peace. Maybe she could learn to pilot a ship the size of Serenity. Maybe she would decide she missed him more than the sunlight, trees and solid earth of Sihnon.

Time, she thought, could change things. Time could change anything, or everything. It had only been two weeks and three days since she watched Serenity’s majestic form shrink to a distant speck in the blue skies of Sihnon. Beyond that sky and this sun were the ancient stars and the infinite black void that had seen millions upon millions of years.

An unfathomable span of centuries… thousands of times greater than their two lives.

Oceans and oceans of time.

 

 

 


End file.
